Page 35 of Choosing Stella

“Have you called the police?”

“Have Locke’s legal people coordinate it. I don’t want Stella standing in this hallway when they come back.”

“That’s the right call.”

I ended the call.

Stella turned to me.

“You called your boss before the police.”

“I called the man who can get the right people here without keeping you exposed.”

“And now?”

I slipped the sealed unit into my kit.

I picked up her bag.

“Now I get you out.”

Before we left, I explained why an active phone could become a location leak.

Stella’s mouth flattened, but I didn’t take the phone from her.

She shut it off herself and slipped it into her bag.

We took the service stair down and left through the rear service exit after the concierge confirmed the loading area was clear. My vehicle was still two blocks away instead of in her garage.

The mist had turned to light rain.

Stella kept close without clinging to me.

I kept scanning the street.

By the time I pulled into the Mill District, daylight had flattened the sky to dull gray.

Old red-brick factories lined the streets, some converted into studios and lofts, others still wearing faded painted signs from businesses dead longer than either of us had been alive. Steel frames cut across rooftops. A water tower rose above the blocks near the river.

My safe house occupied part of a converted industrial building that looked less interesting from the street than it actually was.

Looking forgettable from the street was the point.

Inside, the heavy door locked behind us with a sound that made Stella turn.

“It locks from this side too,” I said.

“I was checking.”

“I know.”

The main living space was simple: exposed brick, metal, charcoal furniture, and a small kitchen. Nothing decorative unless somebody considered reinforced doors attractive.

Stella slowly turned in place.

“This is where you live?”

“No.”